Real Friends Don't Care
by daemonfamiliar
Summary: George wants to take Fred out for their anniversary dinner and Fred is freaking out. FredGeorge fluff. Some DracoHarry. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: Anything that is J. K. Rowling's isn't mine. Obviously.

Warning: If you didn't already realize, Fred/George means boyxboy as well as incest. Or, most specifically, twincest. If you don't like, don't read it.

I stand in front of the mirror and adjust my violet bow tie for the twenty-seventh time and ask, as I had been all day, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

I hear George sigh and feel a twinge of guilt for annoying him so much, but _argh_, I am so damned nervous. What will happen if someone sees us and figures it out? What if they spread the word around? What if it got in the papers? Mum wouldn't just disown us—she would _murder_ us!

Amusingly enough, it's probably her fault that this all started. All those times she locked us in our room for punishment with only but each other for company... it's rather ironic.

I think it was always there: that subtle attraction between George and I that was more than brotherhood, more than twinhood, but I can still remember in perfect detail that cataclysmic moment in which we acted upon it.

It was the summer before our fifth year and George and I had accidentally blown up most of the Burrow. Mum was furious. Dad had it fixed in a jiffy—he _is_ a wizard, you know—but it made no difference to her. After screaming at us until our ears turned blue she locked us in our bedroom and let us out only for meals for the entire summer. That was three months with virtually seeing only each other. _And_ Mum had gone through our room with a fine-toothed comb and a wand and had actually found all of our supplies, so we didn't have much else to do besides spend time together. When I look back on it now it's really no wonder something happened between us. We had to do _something_ to relieve the boredom.

By the end of the first week, George and I had run out of things to spy in "I Spy" and our room was littered with bits of parchment that held the results of countless games of tic-tac-toe and Hangman. Thank Merlin for Dad's love of anything Muggle and Hermione Granger's willingness to humor him.

We were sitting on my bed and it was George's turn to come up with a word in Hangman and, after half an hour, I gave up. It was an eleven letter word that started with an S, ended with a T, had three E's, and an I. I just couldn't figure it out. With much glee, George revealed that it was "sneegwidget."

"George," I told him, the strain of remaining patient with him after all this time almost too much to bear. "That's not a real word. That doesn't count."

"Oh, and why not? If we invent something right now and call it a sneegwidget, then it'll be a real word." George grabbed a piece of parchment and folded it into a funny shape. "See, I declare this design a sneegwidget. That means I win."

"Well, it wasn't a real word when you made me try and guess it, so it doesn't count."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

Our emotions had been running high from being pent up all week and we ended up in a tussle—a real one. We don't have many of those. I received a black eye and gave George a bloody nose before we were through.

Once we calmed down we lay there on the ground—we had fallen off the bed—panting and cursing at each other, though our curses were now good-natured ones. George's body was sprawled on top of my own and I pushed at his shoulder.

"You're making it hard for me to breathe," I told him, my voice strained. I decided not to inform him that there was more than one reason for that. The feel of his heartbeat against my chest was making my own gallop at a painful rate, and I was being driven nearly to insanity by the feel of his bare stomach against mine thanks to the fact that both of our shirts had ridden up.

"Really?" George asked me, his deep voice suddenly serious. I looked up into his eyes, the same color as my own, and couldn't look away. "That's funny, because you're doing the same thing to me." Then, he leaned down and kissed me.

My attention is snapped back to the present as George comes to stand behind me, his body pressing against mine, and I lean back into his comforting warmth. He wraps his arms around my waist and we look at the image of the two of us reflected in the glass.

I am wearing a forest green dress shirt under a navy blue blazer and slacks. He is wearing the opposite: a navy blue dress shirt under a forest green suit. We are both wearing our knee-high dragon-hide boots and our violet velvet bow ties. Our clothes look terrible but we can afford for them to. We are two of the richest wizards around, which means that we can wear whatever we want, and get away with it without being called anything worse than eccentric.

As glaring as our choices of clothing are, our faces are what draw my attention. Everyone says we're identical. That's bullshit. George's freckles are sprinkled in a different pattern and his nose is an eight of a centimeter broader than mine. And he has a birthmark on his left butt cheek. I should know—I've seen the area enough times.

All right, so maybe we're pretty close.

If anyone were to ask me why I chose George as my lover, I would probably tell them that I'm just so bloody gorgeous that a carbon copy of myself was the best I could do.

Now _that's_ bullshit.

When I look at George, it doesn't even occur to me that he looks like me. Because he doesn't—he looks like George. It has more to do with our personalities than our physical appearances. Sure, we can often confuse our own mother if we wish to, but when we're actually being ourselves there is quite a difference.

George exudes an aura of easy confidence. He is the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes poster boy and people-person. I'm quieter, and often more logical. Everything he does is done on instinct, impulse, and emotion. I actually think things through once and awhile. Like now. I'm thinking things through and I'm _so_ not liking the list of possible consequences.

"What are you so worried about, love?" George asks, planting a soft kiss on my cheek and slipping the comb out of my back pocket to fix his hair with.

I sigh. We've been over this before. "It just seems so _obvious_. It _is_ our anniversary, after all, and we're going on a freaking double date with the one of the wizarding world's most out-of-the-closet gay couples."

"First off," George says reasonably, replacing the comb now that he's done with it and pulling his hand back out of my pocket after a quick squeeze that makes me grin even now, when I'm so worried. "Harry and Draco promised to behave in order to make it seem a little less like a double date. The wealthy, successful Weasley brothers are allowed to take their friends out to dinner once and awhile. And second, Harry and Draco are the only two people in the entire world who know that today is our anniversary." He turns me to face him and his eyes are serious as he looks deep into mine. "I am going to take you out to dinner tonight," he says resolutely, "and if it makes you feel better, we can dress you up and call you Fredina for the rest of the evening."

I can't help but laugh. "God, no!"

"Then stop fretting. It's time for us to go."

When we get to the restaurant, Harry and Draco are already there. I have to laugh at the sight of them sitting there, their chairs three feet from each other, sexual tension rolling off them in waves. It's obviously very hard for them to be so close and not touching. I feel a little bad but I can't help but think, _Welcome to my life_. The look Draco gives us tells me we're going to owe him later, but Harry smiles cheerfully.

I sit down next to Harry and George sits beside me. It still seems so painfully obvious to me that George and I are a couple and I find myself scanning the faces of the other people around us to see if they've noticed. George gives me an exasperated look.

Harry leans over and whispers, "If anything makes these people become suspicious that's there's something going on, it will be your nervousness. You really should calm down.

"I'm going to go visit the little boy's room," Draco announces.

No one moves for a moment, then George goes "Ouch! What the—" Draco must have kicked him under the table. "Oh. I'll go, too."

As Draco and George leave the table I hear Draco whisper, "Let's leave them alone for a moment. My Harry will get him to relax, just you watch."

I take a deep breath and Harry grins at me. "It really will be much less noticeable if you just act like you always do. What's weird about you and George going out to dinner with a couple of your friends?"

"Why don't you care?"

"What?" Harry looks at me, genuinely confused. I raise an eyebrow at him and see realization dawn. "Oh, about you and...? Why should I?"

"Everybody else would."

He thinks for a long moment, then shrugs. "I don't know; it's hard to explain. You and George just seem so... right... together. You remember that time you went out with Angelina?"

I shudder at the memory. After we had returned to school after getting together that summer, George had an attack of morals. He decided that we couldn't be together anymore. It honestly felt like there was a huge, important piece of me missing. I had always thought that that was mushy, romantic nonsense, but no, with George, that exactly how it felt.

To try and get over him I asked Angelina Johnson to go out with me. She agreed and we dated for two weeks before I just couldn't take it anymore. When I talked to Angelina she seemed relived but she demanded, as my friend, to know what was going on. She had been able to tell that something wasn't right. I just told her that I had had a lover over the summer and was having a hard time getting over her. That was true enough, besides the "her" part. Miraculously enough, our friendship survived it.

One week later, heaven smiled down as George decided he couldn't care less if our relationship was immoral, though I will always remember that time as the worst three weeks of my life.

Feeling less nervous, I smile at Harry. "Thanks, mate. I don't know what I would do without you."

He grins at me. "That's what friends are for. Now, will you relax so that you both can enjoy your dinner?"

"Yes. Weasley honor." I say, holding up a hand.

"Good, because they're coming back."

I turn and see George and Draco approaching. Harry winks at Draco and Draco gives George an I-told-you-so smirk. He smiles and sits back down next to me.

George and I hadn't planned on anyone finding out about our relationship—Harry included—but Harry and Draco sort of walked in on us one day.

We had thought that after we left school, we would have more time together. Ha. Before we hired any help at least one of us always had to be up front in case someone came in, and after we hired help we were always paranoid that one of our help might require our infinite wisdom and see something they oughtn't. So we snagged our chances to snog when we could.

The Incident happened before we moved out of the Burrow. We were working late and going in early, and we just didn't have any time to enjoy each other. I seriously thought I was going to end up jumping George in front of a customer and having my way with him, and that would be no good at all. So finally one afternoon we told the nice little gal that we hired to stand behind the desk and look pretty that we had to "finalize some important business transactions," and for her to take care of the customers for a few hours, and we disappeared into our office.

We had forgotten one important thing: Harry, our benefactor, had a permanent invitation to come back to our office whenever he wanted. And when we hired the gal—Carolina, I think her name was—we had made sure she knew that.

Well, he should have at least _knocked._

I don't know how long he was there. George and I were pretty wrapped up in each other, but I remember that suddenly we heard Harry clearing his throat and saying "Er, I guess we should come back another time. Don't you agree, love?"

It was like time froze and then moved in slow motion as George and I looked at each other in horror and then turned our heads towards the doorway.

Harry stood there, eyebrows raised and a grin on his face, along with Draco Malfoy, who looked hilarious. I swear his chin was nearly touching the floor. I believe it was the first time I saw Malfoy looking anything but angry or arrogant. It wasn't until later that I appreciated the humor of it, though.

Now that I look back on it, Harry finding out was one of the best things that has ever happened to me—besides George, of course. I didn't realize until then how much I needed someone that I could talk to about our relationship—besides George, of course. Suddenly I had someone I could cry to if George and I were arguing, someone I could complain to if George was acting like a prick.

From that moment on, Harry became my closest friend and confidant—besides George, of course. He was closer to me than even Angelina, Lee, Katie, or my family, because he knew the one secret I could never tell anyone else, and he thought it was wonderful.

Even Draco is pretty close to us now because he accepts that we're lovers and doesn't have a problem with it. If you told me a few years ago that Draco Malfoy would become one of my best friends, I would have told you that you'd been hit in the head by a bludger a few too many times. And then I would have beaten you with my bat.

But no, here we are, the four of us, sitting around a table. On a double date.

Our food comes and I slip my hand underneath the table and intertwine my fingers with George's. He nearly drops his fork as he looks over at me, surprised. He squeezes my hand gently and I squeeze back, and I fight the silly grin that wants to spread itself over my face. Now _that_ would be suspicious.

I realize that we may very well have to live our whole lives keeping our relationship a secret—if we're lucky—but I don't mind one bit. I'd rather deal with that than run the risk of losing George. He means so much to me.

Besides, I'll always have Harry, who is fiercely loyal and supportive of us. Even Draco, in his own weird Slytherin way, is there for us. You can have hundreds of friends in your life, but the type of friend that you can tell anything and everything to is sadly rare. George and I are lucky to have them. They are our real friends, and as such, they don't care.

**A/N: I have never done a story quite like this before. It was one of those evil plot ideas that attack and don't leave you alone. For those of you who have been waiting ever so patiently since Heart of the Phoenix for my next Harry/Draco, I really am still working on it. I just finished chapter three. Yes, I know, I'm being slow. That's why I'm not going to start posting it until it's a little more done—I'd hate to leave a story unfinished. I'm having a hard time getting motivated this summer. But, some of my writer's block seems to have cleared, so hopefully it will go more smoothly. **

**Daemonfamiliar **


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